Introductions: Prowl
by Botosphere
Summary: Prowl received the first of Optimus' transmissions but missed the second. Seeing a Prime in flight is the least of the surprises awaiting him on Earth.
1. Chapter 1

I hovered protectively in front of my companion as Earth's atmosphere began to thicken around us, creating a wake which sheltered him slightly from the friction and heat of reentry. Kick-Off was a Temple guardian who had served under my command through much of the War and I was not about to lose him on this Primus-forsaken mudball of a world. Not after all I had done to find and save him.

His long-range communications had been disabled by the same Decepticons who had subjected him to Polyhex's gladiatorial circuit for the last hundred vorns, and my short-range communications array was among the systems damaged when I extracted him. I was able to decrypt most of the Prime's initial transmission regarding the fall of Megatron and the destruction of the Cube, but the second transmission was hopelessly garbled by Decepticon interference when we received it en route to the coordinates the Prime had sent. We were not quite flying blind as we approached Earth, but we were not far from it, either.

It was truly a shock to be met near the middle of the stratosphere by Optimus Prime, remarkably upgraded with Seeker mods. Kick-Off greeted him, I assumed, but I was unable to communicate with him until we were on the ground. He flew beside us in formation, and his mere presence was more comforting than I would ever admit, even though he was so dramatically altered. Optimus had always been a sure, steadying figure but perceiving him, with my advanced sensors, cut through the tropopause as he escorted us down filled me with both awe and a surprising sense of homecoming. I belonged at the side of my Prime.

I followed him without hesitation when he veered to our left, even when I realized he was guiding us toward a vast expanse of filthy, corrosive fluid. As I analyzed our course, I reasoned that the landing would be gentler on Kick-Off's much-abused armor, but the liquid would be more damaging long-term. Unless they had energon on standby, Kick-Off would be hopelessly rusted in a matter of breems. Surely Optimus would know that, which meant it was probable they had a supply of energon. If so, it had to be one of the last remaining caches.

We meandered slightly, slowing down and lowering the trajectory for impact before we scorched our way into the fluid near a small island. Optimus even followed us beneath the surface, overtaking Kick-Off and hauling him back toward dry land. He moved to intercept me, but I had already transformed and waved him off. Kick-Off was in far worse condition and I was more than capable of reaching solid ground on my own.

When I finally crested the waves, my spark warmed to see Ratchet there and already attending to my fellow Temple guardian. He was in the best medical servos Cybertron had left. With Jolt's help, he was loading Kick-Off onto a flat, wheeled transport trailer.

"Prowl," Optimus greeted as he strode forward through the liquid to meet me. His warm voice was unchanged despite his upgrade. "It is good to see you, old friend."

I bowed my head slightly and walked beside him toward the shore. "I am pleased to serve at your side again, Prime," I answered, more truthfully than he realized.

Three femme alt-forms approached me...with a single spark signature. When they transformed and then joined like a gestalt into the familiar form of Arcee, my doorwings twitched in amazement.

"We received your damage reports," she said in explanation as she began scanning me. "You've managed a few repairs, I see."

Glancing from the split Arcee to the half-Seeker Optimus, I answered, "Yes. It seems my status is not the only one to have changed."

Arcee snorted. "Observant as always. You're not going to extinguish between here and Ratchet's medbay. I'd rather repair you there."

I nodded in agreement and she dropped into her disconcerting three alt-forms.

"Do you have a local template for me to scan?" I asked Optimus, but he shook his head.

"The humans here will not be disturbed by your native form. If anything, they'll be excited to see it."

"Excited?" That did not bode well, not after vorn upon war-torn vorn of 'excitement.'

My Prime's engine made a thoughtful hum. "Until we have time for you to be formally briefed, process this..." Optimus transmitted a file I easily recognized as a language and measurement packet, followed by the rules and regulations for the local indigenous life-forms' military and a compilation of holoform protocols. Finally, he sent me a memory file flagged as his own personal logs - unfiltered. "I'll have the others give you their data, if you'd like."

Optimus knew me well - I would not feel comfortable on this world nor with the combat situation until I knew all there was to know about it. "I would appreciate it." We both transformed then and Arcee and I followed Optimus toward his base, Ratchet towing his patient behind me. The relief of being surrounded by my fellow Autobots - of being safe - was overwhelming.

...

Optimus was working at a console when I entered his office. I'd had time to analyze the data he'd given me while Arcee repaired me, and I needed to speak with him regarding one issue in particular. "May I have a moment of your time?"

He closed the program he'd been working on and gave me his undivided attention. I closed the door behind me. "Your memories provided evidence regarding several actionable offenses," I formally began.

He leaned back in his chair. "Discipline has been implemented where needed."

"Respectfully, sir, that is true with one significant exception: Bumblebee."

"If you're referring to his indiscretion with Arcee, I have already exonerated him, Prowl. It was military regulations he broke, not Temple law. As his commanding officer at the time, I have the authority to do so."

It still did not sit well with me. "Arcee is your kin by virtue of sibling privilege."

"And I invoke sibling privilege in forgiving them," he answered, to my surprise. "Elita would be doing all she could to encourage Arcee to court him. I can do no less."

Knowing his extinguished mate, he was right, of course, and it was impossible to argue with the dead. Still... "If word gets out, it will reflect badly on you as a commander and could negatively impact the Autobots' confidence in our own rule of law."

"Word will not get out," he assured me. "You and I are the only ones who know, and they are taking pains to not let their past relationship interfere with their duties now."

"Those regulations exist for a reason, Prime. The Elite Guard was created as its own military unit specifically to prevent a commander from having to give orders regarding his or her mate going into battle. Without such measures, the entire chain of command is compromised."

"Do you honestly believe there were abuses of power involved?"

Again, he was right. I had personally seen their friendship evolve and, like many others, wondered why Arcee did not court Bumblebee when they were obviously so close.

"Arcee and Bumblebee are no longer in the same chain of command. I have exonerated them for whatever happened on Cybertron and there is no legal impediment to them developing a relationship here."

He spoke with finality and I nodded my helm in acceptance. In many ways it was a relief to not have to punish one of the few Temple guardians I had left.

Weapon's fire lit up my sensors, and Optimus lurched to his feet, sprinting out of his office. I dropped into my alt-mode and followed him into the med bay where it was utter chaos. Ratchet was down, two mini-femmes working on him frantically, and the third component was clearly offline. Kick-Off was nowhere to be seen.

"Arcee, report," the Prime ordered.

"Kick-Off attacked Ratchet," the pink component answered. "We don't know why - we were doing a parts inventory. We just heard Ratchet yell 'fragger' and then Kick-Off went ballistic."

"Where is he now?"

"Unknown. His jetpack is functional, though."

Optimus left without a word, and I followed him, battle protocols still engaged. "What are our orders, sir?"

"What in the Pit is going on?" Iron Will demanded as we crossed into the main hangar. "Kick-Off came flying through here like Starscream was after him."

Optimus ordered, "Scramble NEST's air assets and give pursuit. Bring him back by force if necessary." He dropped into his alt-mode just long enough to hitch into his Blackbird armor and then he transformed again. "I will participate in retrieving him."

Iron Will nodded his assent and Optimus strode out into the open and blasted off.

That left me as the ranking Autobot officer in charge of this mess. Iron Will gave orders to the human contingent of NEST, so I returned to the med bay. Arcee's two remaining components were still working on Ratchet, and the medic was now surrounded by a handful of humans - his repair crew.

"He needs fuel before he drops into stasis lock," Arcee's pink component was saying. "Get me the medical-grade cocktail he has stashed in his office."

Two of the humans moved at once to a corner terminal, and pink-Arcee spared me a fleeting glance. "He'll survive, sir, but he won't be on his feet again for a while. Kick-Off was aiming for his processors. We've stabilized him, but it will take us some time to rebuild the neuro-wiring in his neck and helm."

"Are his processor core and memory intact?"

"We don't know, sir," she tersely answered, and I left her to her work, my doorwings drooping at the prospect of the Prime's medic being rendered useless. Instead of dwelling on that disturbing thought, I set my battle computer on the task of analyzing why Kick-Off went rogue.

I didn't have an office of my own yet to retreat to, so I went instead to the barracks. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were there, cleaning and sharpening their blades, but I pointedly ignored them. To leave would be a show of weakness I knew better than to make with these two, especially now when they were both clearly spoiling for action even though they were supposed to be in the middle of their recharge cycle.

Instead, I settled onto a bare, newly-installed berth that was most likely intended for me and offlined my optics, turning my attention inward. The fact that Ratchet swore at Kick-Off was not particularly noteworthy; he was famously foul-mouthed. What was noteworthy was that Kick-Off attacked Ratchet immediately afterward. Perhaps even more interesting was that he was dangerously close to being successful at assassinating him. During his service to the Temple guardians as well as during the course of the war, Kick-Off had not shown any unusual aptitude for hand-to-hand combat. It was possible that he'd caught Ratchet off-guard, though that seemed highly unlikely considering Prime was known to come online in battle mode after a repair. More likely was that he now possessed greater skill in combat than I was aware, perhaps acquired during his captivity. That addressed the "how" in this situation but it left the "why" unanswered, so I turned the facts over in my mind again.

He'd aimed for Ratchet's processors, Arcee was quite clear on that point. Why the processors, though? He possessed sufficient skill to disable Ratchet too quickly for Arcee to intervene, but he didn't take the clean kill by going for the spark. Instead, he took the time to deliberately destroy Ratchet's neural processor, or at least attempt to. Why? I ran the calculations and came up with a 87% probability that Ratchet had found something during his repair and exam that Kick-Off didn't want him to know, a secret he was willing to kill to protect.

I onlined my optics and sat up.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe eyed me warily, but they weren't the mechs I needed now. Wordlessly, I left the barracks and returned to the med bay.

"I need to know if his memory banks are intact."

"We don't know yet, sir," Arcee snapped.

"Is he stable enough for a memory scan?"

She finally looked up at me with both her components. "You're joking, right? He's _not dead yet_. That kind of personal violation without consent…"

"Kick-Off tried to kill him for a secret Ratchet discovered. Prime is in pursuit attempting to bring him back here and I need to know what we're dealing with. So I ask you again, Arcee, would Ratchet endure any lasting harm from a memory scan?"

She frowned, clearly unhappy, before saying, "Medically, no, other than the fact that if we're the ones to do it it'll delay his repair by that much longer."

"Jolt has the hacking experience necessary to accomplish the task."

"Fine, but we object on his behalf by virtue of sibling privilege."

"Noted." I sent an urgent ping to Jolt and ordered him to the med bay.

He strode in a moment later. "Reporting as ordered," he said, though his gaze was drawn to Ratchet's inert form.

"I want you to do a memory scan…"

"He's still alive," Jolt protested.

My doorwings twitched irritably. "I am aware. However, the situation is urgent. Initiate the scan." The need for data made my spark compress. For once, I desperately hoped that my battle computer was wrong.

He shifted his weight in a gesture the human integration database flagged as "uneasy," a habit from his extensive holoform use, no doubt. "Wish Jazz was here," he muttered, and pain flashed through my spark.

"I do, too." For a myriad of reasons. "Begin the procedure."

Jolt nodded once and knelt beside Ratchet. "What report format shall I use, _sir_?" he bitterly asked. "Prisoner of war? Defector? Criminal?"

Ignoring his barb, I said, "Forward any raw data you are able to recover. I shall prepare whatever report is necessary."

Clearly as unhappy as Arcee, he plugged in to a data port in Ratchet's neck and began scanning whatever he could access.

He was still sifting through Ratchet's damaged memory files when Optimus and the NEST jets returned empty handed.

My Prime took in Ratchet's injured form and then his gaze fell on me. He nodded toward his office and I followed him. As soon as the door closed behind us, giving us some privacy, he said, "I assume there was a pressing need for such drastic measures."

"We have one of two possible scenarios. The first, and far more comforting, is that Kick-Off is injured neurologically somehow and does not recognize friend from foe. The second, and far more likely, is that he has his full faculties and recognized Ratchet for what he is - his foe."

Optimus turned his helm sharply to look at me. "You accuse Kick-Off of defecting."

"I need more data before I can make such an accusation, Prime. Hence the memory scan."

"His actions today are all the more concerning. We were in pursuit, close enough to intercept him, and he punched a hole in the side of a cargo ship before disappearing under the water. I had to let him go in order to save the humans aboard before it sank."

He looked eastward for a long, silent moment before shaking his helm. "With a potential defector on the loose, I do not wish for Sam to be so exposed. Until we've caught Kick-Off, I am recalling him and Bumblebee."

"Understood," I answered, though I didn't fully. I'd seen in Optimus' memory files much of his interaction with the boy but it still baffled me that a human could be a Prime. A part of me was eager to observe with my own sensors and understand for myself.

Within two hours, Bumblebee, the human Prime, and his mate were en route to Diego Garcia. They were less than an hour away when I finally got a message from Jolt - the raw data he'd been able to tease out of Ratchet's damaged processors. It was damaged enough to be low resolution, but the pieces I needed were there.

While I had been meeting with Optimus in his office, Ratchet had completed his repairs on Kick-Off. However, the medic left his patient in a low-level medical stasis so he could "pick for neural-net lice" in Kick-Off's processors. This necessitated overriding his firewalls. He then discovered some files Kick-Off had done his best to bury, but that secrecy only piqued Ratchet's curiosity. The medic had accessed the files and discovered that Kick-Off had sided with Megatron from before the start of the War, had given the Decepticon leader access to the All Spark so it could be corrupted. Kick-Off had been complicit from the beginning. One of my own mechs.

But his treachery hadn't stopped there. He'd fed the location of the All Spark to the Decepticons throughout the war. We'd only been able to keep one step ahead of them because he had to be so careful about sending out a transmission.

After the All Spark was out of his reach, the Decepticons captured him, informed his fellow Autobot captives about his treachery, and then tossed him into the gladiatorial ring with them one at a time to watch the fun as they tried to kill Kick-Off. One by one, he'd killed all his fellow prisoners - including three other Temple guardians - until I had come to his rescue.

Fury roared in my spark, and I offlined my optics. This was the secret Ratchet had found, had almost paid for with his life.

I added a note about this being a Temple guardian matter and forwarded the raw data to my Prime. He would understand. Temple law superseded military law, and for Kick-Off's transgressions, death was the price.


	2. Chapter 2

A thread of thought churned away in the back of my processors, analyzing what culpability was mine in this mess. While Kick-Off's actions were his own, the responsibility to protect the All Spark ultimately had been mine. And I had failed. I was the one who had rubber-stamped his induction into the guardians. I was the one who allowed him to work in such close proximity to the All Spark. It was on my watch - literally - that the Cube was corrupted. I was the one who had rescued him and brought him here to injure Ratchet.

I received a ping from the Prime, announcing that Bumblebee's transport was on final approach, and I briefly considered extinguishing that wayward thread of thought. I would have let it continue to run for any other mech; it was only fair that I subject myself to the same brutal analysis. Giving it a moderate priority, I left the barracks to join my fellow Autobots in the main NEST hangar.

When the transport finally touched down, Bumblebee rolled down the ramp in his alt-form, carting around the humans inside his internal sparkling-carrier cab. Samuel's spark lit up my sensors despite the shielding inherent in such a space. Especially with his low power-output, it was incredibly disconcerting, almost as if Samuel was truly an infant of our race. Then Bumblebee rolled to a stop and both Samuel and his mate stepped out. A cacophony of sensory input hit my doorwings.

Samuel walked closer, leaving a wake of moisture and pheremones and dead skin cells. At the same time, I analyzed the pattern of his infant spark and his energies were in perfect synchronization with Optimus'. Samuel was undeniably human; he was undeniably Prime-bound. Organic life did not have sparks and I was inundated by errors and sensor recalibration requests on my HUD. It was enough to cause a stab of pain in my processors - an early warning of an impending glitch. I focused on modifying my code to allow for the walking impossibility before me.

The boy glanced up at Optimus, and I strongly suspected I was witnessing them communicating over a brother bond.

"Where's Arcee?" Mikaela asked as we walked toward the barracks, and Jolt gestured toward the med bay. She nodded once in understanding and looked up at Bumblebee. "Think Ratchet would be up for visitors, after we get the introductions out of the way?"

The yellow mech shrugged, but his doorwings lifted at the thought. Somehow, I doubted a visit to the surly medic was what inspired such happiness.

Arcee and Ratchet were the only ones absent when we took our places, sitting on the rim of the sunken circle in the middle of the barracks' room. Optimus rose to his feet. "Today we welcome again into our midst Prowl, my first officer." He met my gaze and nodded once. Though his words and gestures were formal, I felt the warmth behind them.

That warmth turned to something cold and deadly when he said, "However, our joy at his arrival is tempered by the knowledge that one of our own has betrayed both us and the most sacred of vows." Turning on his projector, Optimus laid before one and all the most damning evidence of Kick-Off's treachery.

I barely registered the murmurs of surprise and dismay as that wayward thread of thought returned its analysis. As head of the Temple guardians, I was answerable for all of Kick-Off's transgressions against the Cube. The spilled energon of the Temple guardians who were slain by Kick-Off's servos witnessed against me, and only by taking his life could my own be redeemed. One or the other of us must perish.

"Turn us loose on him, Prime," Sideswipe growled, gesturing toward his twin. "We'll put him down for you."

"No," I firmly cut in, pulling myself back to the present. "Kick-Off violated Temple law, and he will be tried and punished accordingly."

"You don't have enough Temple guardians left for a Denunciation," Ironhide pointed out. "You and Bumblebee are the only survivors and it takes at least three of you, doesn't it?"

"He and I are the only two on Earth," I allowed, refusing to rule out the possibility that there were more survivors. "But we have two Primes whose authority supersedes that of the Temple guardians. Optimus or Samuel could stand in as witnesses, if they are willing."

"We're willing," Samuel said.

Bumblebee played a clip. "Gotta catch him...first."

My doorwings swept back in determination. "I will begin looking for him immediately, with your leave, Primes."

"Not yet, Prowl," Samuel said, rising to his feet again. "These are dark times, but we wanted you to see this."

Ironhide's chassis armor slid back to reveal an energon vessel. As he set it at Prime's feet, I noted it was all but empty. Optimus then opened a compartment near his spark and extracted a curious-looking object - the Matrix of Leadership.

A panel on the roof slid back, allowing in streams of sunlight. I knew from Optimus' own memories what would happen next, the white-hot price he paid for the power of our Creator to course through him into the reformatted All Spark. As I anticipated, the light winked out as soon as it fell on the Matrix, and a moment later a glowing, green liquid dripped from the relic. I was wholly unprepared for the hope that ripped through me then. It was a visceral thing, as potent as the despair I'd felt since learning of the Cube's destruction. This was life - my own continued survival - distilling drop by drop. This was hope for our kind and a promise for the future. It was irrefutable evidence that we had - again, always - a true Prime to lead us. It was forgiveness for the unpardonable sin we Autobots collectively bore for extinguishing the Cube.

Energon. I was witnessing the generation of energon.

Eventually, Optimus' hand curled reverently around the Matrix he held and the relic went dormant in his palm. In the golden sunlight, I could see the full-to-brimming energon vessel.

Long-dormant Temple guardian protocols activated, programming I'd accepted as part of my oath of office as head of the guardians. The strut-deep _need_ to protect the All Spark at all costs settled again into my spark and processor. Small wonder, I mused as Optimus returned the Matrix to its home in his chassis, that I'd felt so at home at my Prime's side - he was a living, walking Temple of the All Spark.

My Prime stooped and hefted the vessel. Extending it to me, he solemnly said, "The light of your optics is dim."

It was the beginning of the ritual invitation offered to all who came to the Temple of Simfur seeking a ration of energon. They were ancient, familiar words, but awe stole the appropriate response from my processor. Instead, I accepted the gift being offered and drank deeply - freely - for the first time in eons.

I bowed, dropping to one knee, as I returned the partially-drained vessel to my Prime. Samuel chuckled, his organic spark radiating pleased satisfaction, and I again felt a stab of pain in my processor. No _human_ should glow like that!

Bumblebee rose to his feet and took his place at my right side. "Let's get to it," he quoted.

…

The first order of business was choosing an alt-form. Normally mechs were permitted to "shop around" online for the alt they wanted and the human-built template was shipped in for them to scan. We would not have time for that nor for the human integration training that usually preceded any off-island missions. I interrupted Iron Will mid-apology.

"I'll scan whatever the NEST equivalent is of an Enforcer."

"Police officer," Bumblebee quoted in explanation. "He was a cop...once upon a time."

Not five minutes later, the necessary vehicle pulled into the hangar. The cruiser design was simple enough, but I modified it to my preferred black-and-white color scheme, replacing the "Dodge" emblem on the steering wheel with an Autobot symbol and changing the label on the exterior from "Charger" to "Enforcer."

Then Optimus gave me the use of his office. I needed a quiet, private space for the task ahead of me since finding Kick-Off would require all the processor power I could spare. I offlined my optics and sent threads of code and thought into the human's digital network.

My chronometer indicated that 20 minutes had passed before a human-sized spark-signature joined me in the office.

"How are you going to do it?"

It took me 4.25 astroseconds to reroute memory strings to visual sensors and auditory processing, 1.1 astroseconds to become annoyed at the interruption even if Samuel was a Prime and Optimus' brother, and another 12.3 astroseconds to assemble a suitable response. "Kick-Off will need power but the saline content of your oceans are too corrosive for him to avail himself of deep-water energy sources such as superheated vents. It's too much of a drain on energon. Solar power collection would be diminished by the saline and other mineral deposits that would accumulate should he attempt to simply stay in the ocean. He will make for land, most likely the closest major landmass available. To that end, I am monitoring both governmental and private sensor feeds along the coastlines of Sri Lanka and India."

He gave me a full twenty astroseconds of peace before he interrupted again. "Both of them? The whole coast?"

"Just the southern third of India," I corrected and then resigned myself to focusing on this conversation. I shouldn't have omitted a detail as simple as that. Dropping my surveillance of the coastline of Madagascar (it had been a long shot, anyway, and if he did make for that country it would, at a minimum, take him another day to get there), I focused on Samuel.

"You can _do_ that?" he asked, wide-eyed. "I mean, even for you guys, that's a _lot_ of data."

I lifted my chin in self-confident pride. "I am a tactician and my first career was as a surveillance peacekeeper. Monitoring and analyzing significant quantities of data is my primary function."

He pursed his lips together in a gesture my human-integration database flagged as "pensive." Primus save me from inquisitive organics - Prime or otherwise.

"I didn't mean, 'How are you going to find him?' I meant, 'How are you going to kill him?'"

It was an unexpected question, and with my attention divided it took a painfully-long time to consider it. "In the traditional manner."

"Yeah, I figured, since you wanted me or Optimus to be a witness for the Denunciation. But Temple law was pretty clear on this. The trial was done in the Temple itself, in front of the All Spark. You give the accused mech a wound that will kill him but not immediately and if he wasn't guilty the All Spark would heal him. Which is creepily similar to some witch-hunt stuff but...never mind. My point is, you don't have the Cube anymore."

I vented a sigh. "I am aware of the difficulties you raised. In this case, the evidence comes from his own memory core."

"Which was reported to you via Jolt who picked the data from the processor of an offline mech. In other words, hearsay."

I glared at him, and he added, "I know you, Prowl, better than you realize. Optimus hasn't stopped talking to me about you since you arrived. You're gonna hate yourself if you cut corners on this one."

There was a ripple in the data-streams, and I focused for 17.42 astroseconds to determine it was merely human activity - a manned, motorized rescue vehicle within 4% variance of Kick-Off's mass patrolling a beach near Kochi, India. I flagged the vehicle as the 168th potential alt-form template for him and devoted a processor thread to track it until it passed more than a mile from the shoreline.

"Even so," I finally answered him, "I've been on Earth less than 48 hours. You are living proof that we must adapt." I suddenly looked down to meet his gaze. "Does Optimus have reservations about the proceedings?"

"No," he answered, shaking his head. "Just me. And just because we do still have the All Spark, even if the Cube was destroyed."

It took my strained processor 5.89 astroseconds to decipher his meaning. "You are offering to wield the All Spark at the Denunciation trial?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure if it even _can_ heal like that. I've only used it to reignite sparks and its power is pretty depleted. All I know is that if I'm one of the Denunciation witnesses, I couldn't even try, right?"

"Perhaps not." This whole scenario was so far beyond the scope of Temple law that my processor ached when I tried to stretch it around the current situation, especially with my analysis needed elsewhere. "I will consider the points you raised while you recharge. Hopefully by morning I will have some options for you."

He quietly snorted. "Ya know, if ya go too long without recharge, ya gonna start havin' processin' errors."

Jazz. He'd said those words with that inflection so many times that it was almost like hearing them from the dead mech's own vocal processor. It froze my spark.

I looked at this walking organic enigma and he gave me a sad smile. "I know you," he repeated. "I'm a Prime and I take care of my mechs. When you get a fourth-level recharge alert, notify Optimus. He can divide the data stream analysis between him, Bumblebee, and Jolt so you can rest. You'll be more intuitive in your dreams, anyway. I can make it an order if you want me to, but I'd rather not."

Stunned, I nodded my helm. "Yes, sir."

He nodded in answer, apparently satisfied, and left. Deliberately burying in my spark the pain he'd awoken by speaking in Jazz's stead, I centered in on tracking the 168th potential template and monitoring for other targets. As ordered, once a fourth-level recharge alert came up on my HUD, I notified Optimus and he took over the data streams with Bumblebee and Jolt.

In my dreams that recharge cycle, I stood in front of the Cube at the Temple of Simfur, remembering the only other Denunciation trial I'd been a part of, back when I was still an initiate. Glyph had been his name and he'd been accused of trying to access and read the histories engraven into the All Spark. Only a Prime had the right to do that, and for a mere second-level guardian to make that attempt bordered on blasphemous. Or at least, that was Broadside's accusation at the time.

There were no weapons allowed in the presence of the All Spark, so inflicting the trial wound was no small matter. With his own servos, Broadside personally tore apart the coolant lines that were connected to Glyph's spark chamber, giving him mere moments to survive.

In the quiet of my own, dreaming mind, I was able to admit I had grievous doubts that solar cycle, even though the evidence against Glyph was irrefutable. Discerning the will of the All Spark as recorded on its surface was a right that belonged to the Primes. Glyph was on trial for usurping that right, but were we not unjustly pretending to read the will of the All Spark by performing this ritual? The accused guardians at the last three Denunciations had perished, but it was a long leap of logic to assume that reflected the will of the All Spark.

Glyph was miraculously healed from his wound, and he replaced Broadside as head of the Temple guardians not long after, but the implications troubled me even now. It had been handed down as fact that the Primes were the only ones who could read the histories. And while Glyph had been unsuccessful in his attempt to translate them, the All Spark had endorsed (or at least, not condemned) him for his audacity.

If such audacity was acceptable for mechs who weren't Primes, what authority did my true Primes have in regards to this new All Spark? Samuel in particular, as the one who reignited sparks, would be able to speak to us and discern its will in this Denunciation and trial. Even if its energy was too depleted to heal, the All Spark could make its will known.

The following morning, I found Samuel with the other humans in the main hangar, nursing a cup of coffee. He was impossible to miss with his Prime-bound spark. At least the software patches I'd written yesterday kept the sensor errors to a minimum. "You asked last night how Kick-Off's trial would proceed given the difficulties presented by the All Spark's new form."

Setting the cup aside, he looked up, giving me his full attention. "Yeah?"

"The purpose of the trial was to ensure that the All Spark approved of the execution since it and it alone judged the Temple guardians. You executed Megatron and reignited Optimus. As Prime, you can speak the will of the All Spark on this matter."

He blinked several times and it took him 4.2 astroseconds to respond. "I don't...I mean, it's not as simple as that. I can't just meditate or something and know what the All Spark wants."

"Nevertheless, if anyone can know the will of the All Spark, it will be you, Prime. You have the power to judge us."

He sighed. "Give me some time to think about it, 'kay? Besides, there's another issue. If Optimus and Bumblebee are the witnesses, that'll leave you all alone to fight Kick-Off, right?"

I straightened, my doorwings stiffening. "If you know me as well as you seem to, you also know I am a capable warrior."

"I know. I also know Kick-Off came uncomfortably close to taking out Ratchet. I don't like the idea of you going solo against him."

I opened my mouth to protest but was interrupted by an urgent ping just as Samuel said, "They've spotted him. Go."

The message from Bumblebee confirmed the human Prime was correct and I hurried to join them in Optimus' office. Optimus transmitted Kick-Off's current coordinates as well as the observations that led them to believe it was indeed him. He'd caught Kick-Off on camera scanning an alt-mode in Matara, Sri Lanka and transforming before leaving the beach. The three of them proverbially handed off their data streams to me to allow me to continue tracking the traitor.

I barely noticed Optimus giving orders for a transport plane to be made ready. My mind was wandering the streets of Matara following Kick-Off through the optic of whatever camera I could find and hack along his route.

Eventually, Jolt joined me in the office. "Optimus ordered me to keep an optic on him while you're in the air."

"Thank you. Notify me immediately if he leaves the city."

"Understood."

I turned the data streams over to him and strode out to join the Prime on the tarmac with Bumblebee in tow. The Primes, because Samuel was part of our team this time, too, standing in the shade of his brother.

"Bumblebee," Arcee called, her two remaining components zipping around him to block his path. It was the first time she'd left the med bay since Ratchet's injury. Both of them extended their arms to him and he clasped them in a warrior's grip.

"Take care of yourself," she said. "We'd offer to ride shotgun but Ratchet..."

"You would not be permitted to join us," I interrupted. "Kick-Off has besmirched the honor of the Temple guardians. This is a matter for us alone."

She glanced sidelong at me, and Bumblebee released her hands. "Good hunting," she wished him and, turning to me, added, "To you both."

I nodded in acknowledgement and we followed Optimus and Samuel onto the plane.


	3. Chapter 3

Once we had achieved a cruising altitude, Samuel settled into the bunk in Optimus' cab and promptly dropped off to sleep. It was disconcerting how often the humans had to recharge, but I pinged Jolt for a progress update.

So far, Kick-Off was remaining in the most densely-populated area of the city, probably hoping to lose any pursuit in the shifting traffic patterns. Little did he know that we could follow him better there than in a more rural or even suburban setting. Or perhaps, as was more likely, he was hoping to be left alone since any confrontation in the city would result in high human casualties. I focused my battle computer on the task of minimizing fatalities.

We'd been in flight for approximately three hours when Samuel came stumbling out of Optimus' cab. Visibly shaken, he approached Iron Will and asked if he had a pen and paper. Will gave him a confused look and said, "No."

"Just a pen, then?" the Prime begged, and Lennox walked off, grumbling.

Inexplicably, Samuel glared at Optimus, who was sitting quietly in his alt-form and I again supposed that they were speaking over their bond.

"You gonna make me write them in blood?" the human finally burst out, though he was still directing his attention to Optimus.

Fortunately, before the bizarre threat could become more than that, Iron Will returned with a pen and a small notebook.

"Thanks, man," he said before sitting down next to him and intently sketching something.

Bumblebee rolled closer in curiosity, but Samuel ignored him, flipping a page on the notebook and sketching some more. He filled another two pages in tense silence. Finally, he stood up and turned the book so we Autobots could all see the contents. It was full of Cybertronian glyphs.

"Does this answer your question, Prowl?" he asked.

I scanned over the pages as he flipped them, my spark spinning in stunned disbelief. This was the language of the Primes, a passage from the writing on the All Spark. I could not read it, but I readily recognized it.

"It is not modern Cybertronian, Sam," Optimus told him.

He scowled at Optimus' alt-mode. "But _you_ know what it means thanks to Jetfire's databases so translate it already."

"Doom has found this one," Optimus solemnly intoned, "measured and found wanting."

"How do you know these glyphs?" I finally managed to ask.

Samuel frowned and glanced at Optimus. "I dreamed it."

Something about his tone and the uneasy way he shifted his weight hinted that there was much more to his 'dream' than the glyphs.

/It was a solo dream,/ Optimus told me over a comm signal. /He does not wish for me to file-share bond experiences, and he does not wish for the humans to know yet the full depth of our bond./

Ah. That explained his unease. /Did any other information accompany the glyphs?/

/They were written in the sand by Alpha Prime himself who was, in Sam's words, 'pissed.' Sam is confident it is a message from the All Spark./

What Alpha Prime had to do with human digestive functions was beyond me, but the message itself was clear enough. It was the data we had been waiting for. To the human Prime, I said, "I infer that you feel capital punishment is the appropriate verdict for Kick-Off." Or for me, if I failed to bring him to justice.

Samuel nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. "Bring him in, Prowl."

…

By the time we landed in the middle of the afternoon, I had a plan of attack and engaged my battle protocols as we approached Matara. Optimus led us into the city as Bumblebee (carrying the human Prime) and I spread out in a search pattern that was purely for show. We were able to follow the traitor easily enough via the local human video feeds that Jolt was sending us, but we didn't want Kick-Off to know that.

As head of the guardians, it fell to me to broadcast on a Temple frequency the order for Kick-Off to stand down and surrender. It was highly unlikely that he would heed the order, but if we surprised Kick-Off or got too close, he was liable to turn violent. If he could see me coming and thought escape was an option, there was a 78.22% chance that he would flee. That probability was not as high as I would have liked, but this strategy had the best chance of flushing him out of hiding in the city and away from human civilians.

/Prowl?/ Bumblebee worriedly commed me. Kick-Off was changing course, heading away from me and toward the waterfront.

Bumblebee, being on the opposite side of the city, was the nearest to him. /Intercept but avoid engaging him if possible. Above all, keep your Prime safe./

/Preaching to the choir,/ was his flippant response. I mentally frowned. Discipline had grown lax in my absence; that or being the guardian of a Prime made him think he could take liberties. Considering he'd already escaped any consequences for his dalliance with Arcee, he had good reason to make that assumption.

I made my way toward Bumblebee and Kick-Off as quickly as I could, tamping down my frustration at the heavy traffic. Optimus was having an even more difficult time, especially with his Blackbird armor in tow. We were both reduced to simply watching as Bumblebee closed in on his target. As soon as he was close enough for Kick-Off to have him in visual range, Kick-Off transformed and took to the air.

/I'll take him down,/ Optimus declared in tones usually reserved for Megatron. He incorporated his Blackbird armor as he transformed, sending the citizens of Matara fleeing in terror. I noted that the JCS would not be happy, but this was by far the best possible outcome of this portion of the mission.

The ensuing air pursuit was beyond the view of any human video feeds, but I was able to track Optimus easily enough, and the lack of weapons' fire was encouraging. Prime was keeping his distance and Kick-Off wasn't staying to fight. I vented a sigh of relief when they passed beyond the city limits. Phase 1 was complete without human casualties; Phase 2, however, would be much more haphazard.

/Steer him toward a nature preserve,/ I instructed Optimus.

/He's going to ground, trying to blend in on a highway by scanning a new alt./

My engine revved in frustration - my path was blocked by a bus and a slow, lumbering truck that were travelling side-by-side. We were on a long bridge, so there were no alternate routes. /If you see an opening to apprehend him without endangering humans, do so. We can _not_ risk him entering another major city./

/Understood./

Bumblebee was waiting on the other side of the river. /Use your alt-mode's lights and siren, sir,/ he sent.

/I am outside of NEST's jurisdiction,/ I crisply answered. /They won't recognize my authority./

/A cop car is a cop car as far as they're concerned,/ he assured me. /It'll make the other vehicles get out of the way./

I bit back an irritated response about insufficient human integration training and switched on the appropriate hardware. Sure enough, the vehicles moved aside, allowing me to pass them. Miraculously, most of the other cars in front of them also made way for me. I left the alarm system on as Bumblebee fell in behind me and we continued our pursuit.

/How do the humans even function with streets this choked?/ I demanded.

Bumblebee simply answered, /Google "rush hour."/

I followed his advice, and the inefficiency of human urban planning was appalling. The utter breakdown of functionality occurred so often they even had a term for it - gridlock. Humans were so primitive! I mentally praised Primus that at least the human-builts still moved, especially now that I knew how to better use my alt-form.

The traffic thinned as we reached the edge of the city, and I again commed my Prime. /Please report./

He patched me in to his own visual feed. /I believe he is making for the capital city. He's deliberately blocking traffic, creating a large audience./

/Surrounding himself with human shields,/ Bumblebee unhappily agreed.

Through my Prime's optics, I saw Kick-Off swerve, preventing the vehicle behind him from passing him and running it off the road where it crumpled against a large tree.

/Intervene,/ I ordered. /He's harming humans./ With the traffic back-up, Bumblebee and I wouldn't be able to assist in capturing Kick-Off at this point, anyway.

Optimus dove with almost reckless speed, and Kick-Off again took to the air, but not before destroying another couple of human-builts. We were close enough now that we could see our Prime overtake him, grapple, exchange blows and then weapons' fire. Kick-Off didn't stand a chance. The two of them tumbled earthward into a heavily-forested area. We drove after them as far as we could, then went the rest of the way in on pede, Bumblebee carrying Samuel in his servos.

A clearing had been formed by the violence of their fight, with broken trees and some bracken still burning from energy weapons. Kick-Off was face down in the mud, Optimus kneeling on him with an energon sword hovering above his neck. I counted at least three ranged weapons in various states of destruction scattered about the clearing. Optimus had thoroughly disarmed him ahead of the Denunciation, I noted with approval.

"Thank you for apprehending him, Prime," I said, and he took it as a cue to sheath his blade. "Kick-Off, remove your jetpack."

"Not even the 'cons took that away from me," he grumbled.

Apparently the mech didn't realize how precarious his situation was. "Optimus, please remove his jetpack."

His energon blade slid forward again and Kick-Off hurriedly released the clamps holding the flight tech to his backplates. I nodded to Bumblebee to retrieve it. He gently set Samuel on his feet behind a large tree and, once the jetpack was safely in Bumblebee's subspace, Optimus stood up, allowing our prisoner to do the same.

For a long, tense moment, Kick-Off just stared at me. I searched his optics, his energy field, trying to determine if there was any hint of guilt, any telltale indication I should have detected vorns ago and didn't. I could find no obvious or even hidden flaw. It made no sense - how could a spark so corrupt appear so normal?

"Gonna haul me back for a memory scan?" he eventually asked.

The words made me focus again. "Unnecessary. Ratchet's memories survived your attack."

He lunged at me, fingers aiming for my optics, and I ducked, instinctively tucking my doorwings out of harm's way. His momentum toppled us both, but I rolled free and to my pedes. He didn't learn that in combat training - that was a move from the gladiator ring.

Both Optimus and Bumblebee were bristling with weapons again. "Stand down," I said to them, keeping my gaze on Kick-Off. "You are Denunciation witnesses now."

"Denunciation?" Kick-Off barked a laugh, already on his pedes again. "That glitch finally send you over the edge?"

"You are the only mad one here."

Kick-Off and I circled each other warily as he snarled, "We're all walking dead mechs, and you want to have a Denunciation."

"You have broken our most sacred oath…"

"THE CUBE IS GONE!" he roared. "No energon, no new sparks - we're all dead mechs, no matter what happens today." He laughed bitterly. "Ratchet used the last of your energon on _me_."

I saw then what I had been seeking earlier - the corrosion of the spark.

"He doesn't...you don't understand," Samuel said, inching closer to Bumblebee.

Kick-Off froze as he took in the human, the impossible spark, the Prime-bound spark frequency. I snatched his nearest wrist, twisting it up and back, but he broke free and swung hard with his other fist. My left arm came up, deflecting the blow, and I jabbed with my right just under his chassis plating. Something gave way with a satisfying crunch, and he staggered back. Pulling a set of stasis cuffs out of subspace, I slowly approached him. "You _will_ submit to judgment."

"What...abomination is this?" Kick-Off demanded, nodding in Samuel's direction as he backed away.

"This is my brother Prime," Optimus rumbled, moving closer and slightly in front of him. "He was chosen by the All Spark to be a bridge between our races."

"He is also your judge, Kick-Off," I said. "You will address him as befits a Prime. He stands in the stead of the Cube."

The mech looked from Samuel to me to Optimus and shook his helm in disbelief. "You're all fragging glitched!"

Ignoring the barb, I straightened. "I, Prowl, head of the Temple guardians, denounce…"

As I expected, Kick-Off tried to make a run for it, but I tackled him. He managed to work one leg free and kicked my doorwing, smashing sensors and making pain flare across the whole appendage.

Gritting my denta, I lunged at him as he scrambled to his pedes, catching the mech in a headlock. He was half-again my mass, but when I rolled off his backplates, it flipped him over my own frame and I landed squarely on his backplates. He struggled to rise, and I punched just above the motor relays at the base of his helm. The armor was too thick there for me to actually paralyze him with the blow, but it did stun him long enough for me to retrieve the stasis cuffs from where I'd dropped them and to securely restrain him. Then I hauled him back to the clearing and forced him to his knees in front of Samuel.

Continuing the ritual, I said, "I, Prowl, denounce you, Kick-Off of Metrotitan, for breaking our most sacred oath. You allowed profane servos to touch the All Spark..."

He spat at me. "You're just thugs without the Cube."

I ignored the insult. "You assented to Megatron's corruption of the Cube in exchange…"

"This is empty - it means NOTHING!"

"... for the promised promotion to head of the Temple guardians. You lied about your allegiance to our true Prime…"

"He's no more a Prime than me or Megatron."

"...and gave your spark and processors to serve his enemy. You extinguished three of your fellow Temple guardians."

"It was kill or be killed."

"For these sins and more, I denounce you. How do you answer?"

"This isn't a trial - this is a sham, an excuse for you to kill me and feel good about it."

The sounds of armor shifting made me glance at Optimus, and he again extracted the Matrix of Leadership.

"Do you recognize this?" Samuel demanded of Kick-Off. The mech's optics widened in surprise as it levitated just above Optimus' palm, but he said nothing.

"He does," I answered when Kick-Off wouldn't. "We all do."

Optimus' hand again curled reverently around the relic and it flared a brilliant blue even in the light of the setting sun, acknowledging him as Prime. Then he released it and it drifted in the human's direction. Samuel reached out, and the relic flared to life at his touch as well. Pain flickered in the back of my processors at the sight, but I shook off the warnings on my HUD.

Samuel stood straight and lifted his chin. "You are in the presence of the All Spark. How do you answer?"

He weakly shook his head. "This isn't possible."

Samuel looked up at me and solemnly nodded. "Do it, Prowl."

I strode around the mech to face him. There were no medics here to open his armor for me, and it would be profoundly disrespectful to draw a weapon when the All Spark was on display.

"You don't have to do this, Prowl," Kick-Off said, his optics searching mine.

My anger burned like the pain in my wounded doorwing. "You didn't have to kill three of your own fellow guardians for the amusement of the Decepticons." Perhaps I should rend his limbs off and leave him to bleed out like he'd done to Huffer. The dead mech's energon was on my own servos if I didn't administer justice.

"I'm not the same mech I was then."

I raised an optic ridge in disbelief. "Ratchet nearly offlined from your shot to his processor core - Warpath was not so lucky."

"I had no choice."

He had flayed Gears alive, ripping off his armor and breaking struts until the Decepticons were chanting "Kill him!" over and over. He was more cruel than his captors. "There is _always_ a choice."

He sneered. "Like Jazz had?"

Blistering pain forked through my processors and I backhanded the mech, making him rock back on his heels. I didn't have the mass to rip him in half, but I _could_ tear his helm off.

My servos were gripping Kick-Off's jawstruts when Optimus commed me. /Prowl./

The single word was gentle, worried, and it helped ground me. Instead, my servos slid down to dig into the seams of armor near the base of Kick-Off's neck. A major coolant line ran there, and I tore it loose, snapping it and letting the fluid stream down his chassis.

"No!" he shouted, struggling to rise to his pedes with his servos still bound. My heavy servo on his shoulder kept him in place. "You can't! You can't just stand there and watch me die!"

"If you were worthy of life, we would stand here and witness your healing," I flatly answered.

"Please," he pleaded. "You rescued me. You _saved_ me! And now you're going to kill me in cold energon?" Heat started to visibly dance around the mech. He rocked from side to side, straining against the stasis cuffs, his vents whining in agony as they tried in vain to keep his temperature at reasonable levels.

"No, it will be in hot energon."

"Bumblebee," Optimus said behind me, and I heard them move back several paces. I held my ground.

Kick-Off screamed, but the sound was cut off by a stream of molten metal pouring out of his mouth - his tanks melting.

The sight made my own tanks churn, and my words were more grim than gloating when I declared, "For my Primes and for Primus, you are ended."

The light of his optics extinguished and he fell face-first in the molten slag of his own internals.

Battle protocols disengaged and grief flooded my spark - irrational grief and guilt and regret. Errors filled my HUD, blinding me, and I doubled over, keening for the loss of another of my guardians.

Processor pain impaled me as my HUD blacked out.


	4. Chapter 4

::Reboot sequence complete. Initializing sensors.::

My optics came online, but I lay still for a moment, getting my bearings. I was in a med bay, judging by the clean smell of solvents and Ratchet's stream of foul language to my right. My processors still ached a little, which meant I'd glitched at some point. I was on Earth, I remembered, and we'd held a Denunciation for Kick-Off. The last moments before the glitch was triggered weren't entirely clear, though. My chronometer indicated it had been almost four days since we'd left Diego Garcia to bring Kick-Off to justice.

I sat up on my elbow to look around, and my doorwings lifted at the sight of Ratchet immobilized on the repair berth opposite me. It eased my spark to see him in such good condition, relatively speaking. He clearly didn't have full use of his motor relays yet, but his vocal processor and the memory sectors that housed profanity were obviously in good working order. Arcee's two remaining components were at the far end of the med bay continuing to repair her offlined component. The pink one turned and, seeing me online, rolled to my side. "Welcome back, sir. How do you feel?"

"I am operating within normal variance," I answered, though I frowned slightly. "With the exception of my right doorwing, it appears."

"Yes," she nodded. "Doorwing calibrations are fiddly enough that I'd prefer Ratchet to be the one to repair it, but he's still several days away from being up to that."

"Fragging femme," the medic growled. "I'm going to reformat you into a slagging pencil sharpener and give you to Spitlet's kindergarten class!"

She ignored his continuing tirade. "I've disconnected the sensors that were damaged on that doorwing, so you won't be in any pain in the meantime."

"Thank you," I said, relaxing back onto the berth. "Is Optimus…"

"On his way. I commed him as soon as I saw you were awake again."

"Thank you," I repeated.

"As soon as you feel able, you should refuel. I have a ration on standby when you're ready."

"I believe I feel well enough for that," I answered, sitting up and swinging my pedes to the floor. I was pleased that the processor ache seemed to be fading.

Nodding in approval, she turned and looked down, making me aware of Ratchet's repair crew. "You heard the mech, Quinn."

"On it," the human cheerfully replied, while she returned to working on her damaged component.

Ratchet continued to threaten and swear at her enthusiastically, and she lifted her hand in an unfamiliar (and presumably human) gesture that set him off all the more. The human designated Quinn brought me two large (for him) rectangular canisters of fuel and set them on the berth beside me. "Ratchet's special brew - medical grade fuel with a few extras mixed in for good measure."

I thanked him and drank while Ratchet turned his wrath on me for just sitting there instead of helping him. My doorwings gave away my amusement, I'm sure, because there was a certain poetic justice to him being restrained on one of his own medical berths.

A moment later, Optimus strode in with Bumblebee and Samuel in tow. I would have preferred to not have an audience, but at least they weren't the Pit-spawn twins. "Primes," I nodded in acknowledgement.

"It is good to see you whole again, old friend," Optimus said.

"Relatively," I corrected, twitching the injured doorwing. "I look forward to Ratchet making a full recovery."

He nodded in agreement and looked to the medic who was now berating his Prime. Optimus interrupted him mid-insult. "What's your opinion, Ratchet? Is he cleared for light duty?"

He grimaced. "You're the one who relieved me of the position of chief medical officer until that female spawn of the Unmaker decides to finish repairing me, so you have to ask _her_."

We looked to the femme, whose pink component turned to face us. "Prowl is up to light duty, but nothing more than that until that doorwing is fully functional."

I tilted my helm curiously but Optimus spoke before I could. "Arcee, why are you not working on Ratchet?"

She defiantly placed one servo on her hip. "You told us we couldn't mute his vocal processors, Prime. We refuse to work on him while he's being abusive. You want him back on his pedes quicker, then shut him up or let us do it."

The inscribed plate on Optimus' helm spun in frustration. "I need my command staff in full working order. Ratchet, cooperate - _politely_ \- or I will let her do whatever it takes to repair you in peace. That's an order."

Ratchet vented hard in a frustrated sigh and Samuel chuckled. "Kids these days."

Bumblebee's shoulders and doorwings shook with laughter, but a blurry memory became clearer - coolant streaming down a mech's chassis from a line I'd broken with my own servos. Primus, let it never be Bumblebee on trial!

"Come with us," Optimus invited, and I rose to my pedes to follow him, archiving the memory as fast as I could. Other memories became clearer, though, and I asked, "Bumblebee, what happened to Kick-Off's jet pack?"

Samuel was the one who answered, following Optimus toward his office. "Sideswipe has it. He said that's what he wanted in payment of an old debt."

I shuddered at the thought of a flight-capable Sideswipe but turned my gaze on Bumblebee. "Was it a legitimate debt?"

He ducked his helm and nodded.

I didn't like the idea of keeping trophies, not to mention the trouble the Pit-spawn twins would get into if one of them could fly, but it was valuable tech and Primus knew we could use every tactical advantage we could get. "Optimus, I recommend regulations regarding the use of such technology on Earth be drafted as quickly as possible."

He chuckled. "Yes." As an afterthought, he added, "Draft your regulations widely enough that my own upgrade is included in it."

I nodded and set a thread of thought to work on the task.

As we approached his office, Optimus said, "We are stripping Kick-Off's frame of all salvageable parts, but the JCS want to know what we are going to do with him after that. I am averse to interring him near Jazz…"

"Agreed," I interrupted him.

"... but I do not believe he should be sent to the same scrap heap as the Decepticons."

I understood why he was deferring to me for this decision regarding one of my former guardians. "I recommend that he be an outcast in death as in life," I answered. "Bury him at sea, but without a GPS transmitter on him." Even the dubious honor of being recognized as a Decepticon was more than he deserved.

"Thank you." He paused as his door swished open. "NEST will be in contact with you regarding your human integration training, but in the meantime, you are free to do as you please."

I frowned slightly at the dismissal, but Samuel cleared his throat. "Got a few minutes for me, Prowl?"

"It would appear I do," I answered, beginning to suspect that he'd arranged my free time.

"Let's go for a drive," he suggested, and Bumblebee collapsed into his alt-form. I assumed Samuel would ride with him, but when I completed my transform sequence, he strode over to my driver's side door and waited expectantly.

I opened it with some trepidation.

He slid in but thankfully wasn't presumptuous enough to grab the steering wheel. "Did you have a destination in mind?" I asked.

"Actually, I do. Let's head down to Boomtown. There's a spot I want to show you."

Bumblebee led the way, and I followed him out of the hangar in silence. We'd driven for several minutes before Samuel said, "You'll like Mrs. Lennox. She's great, and all the 'bots have come to rely on her."

I analyzed that, analyzed her NEST file, trying to determine what he might be trying to convey.

"Spitlet's a lot of fun, too. We humans are pretty crazy, but I'm sure you'll figure it all out eventually."

Was he trying to brief me on his fellow humans? Though the Lennox's creation did have me puzzled. "She's still a youngling, barely above a sparkling, is she not?"

"Yeah, you could say that, I guess."

"Then why does she have a NEST file? Minors are not allowed into combat."

"She does?" he said, surprise written across his face. "She's not supposed to know anything about the 'bots, and if she see's combat it'll be over Will's dead body."

That was a disturbing mental image, all the more so because I had seen younglings fighting in just such a circumstance.

"She's just part of the package, I guess. You'll understand when you meet her. She's slagging cute."

"And that qualifies her for participation in NEST?"

He vented a frustrated sigh. "Just...ask Optimus after you've met her if you still don't get it."

We rode the rest of the way in silence. Bumblebee pulled to a stop near the training grounds, but Samuel said, "Keep going. There'll be a turn-off on your left up here in a little bit. That's where we're going."

It was barely more than a track through the mud, but I turned off as instructed and stopped on the edge of the tree line. He let himself out of my cab. "Come on, I don't think you'll be able to see it as well in your alt."

It was broad daylight and there were two ships at the docks on the other side of the lagoon, but I transformed as instructed. Samuel pointed out over the water. "Do you see it? They put it on a rock outcropping so it won't get swallowed by the movement of sand. You should be able to pick up the GPS signal, if nothing else."

"What am I searching for?"

"Jazz."

Pain twinged in my processor, but I was surprised out of it by the gentle, organic touch of Samuel's hand on my pede. I looked down to meet his steady gaze. "Have you picked up the signal yet?"

I looked out over the lagoon. It was faint - it didn't need to be strong here, not when he was so close to the surface - but I was able to detect the homing beacon. Memories that I'd borrowed from Optimus surfaced then: a failed attempt to revive him using the Matrix, a Dixieland jazz funeral, a toast of kinship.

"He was like a brother to you," Samuel softly said. "I'm only human, but I get what that means."

"We shared no bond," I truthfully, softly answered.

"Yes, you did. Not a Cybertronian one because you couldn't - the clans were shattered - but you still shared a different kind of bond. That's why I brought you out here. We all grieved but you never got a chance to and you need it more than anyone. And not just him. There's Kick-Off now, and the ones that he killed, too."

There were so many more than just those mechs, but their loss was the most raw still. I stared through the sloshing water at the coffin for the mech who had been as trusted, as maddening, and as cherished as my own bound brothers. Samuel was wrong about this, though. As much as I wanted to grieve Jazz, I couldn't. I couldn't truly grieve since Praxus fell and all my bonds were severed. I finally looked back at the baffling being beside me.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Samuel, but human methods of grieving would not comfort a Cybertronian."

"Is that what you saw in Optimus' memories?"

I was slightly unsettled that he knew my Prime had shared those memories with me. Still, I was honest with him. "No, but Optimus wasn't alone in his grief. He had his brother."

Samuel huffed in frustration. "You're more stubborn than he remembers."

"Perhaps," I allowed, glancing down at him, but he was still looking out over the lagoon. Looking at Jazz.

"He's worried about you, you know. Not professionally, or I guess, it's more than _just_ professionally. That glitch took you out and Arcee hadn't ever been trained on how to...resuscitate you."

"Is that why it took me almost four days to reboot?"

He shook his head. "It took her that long to get Ratchet pieced back together enough to remember how to do it. If he hadn't been repairable or if those memory sectors had been damaged..."

I would still be in stasis in the med bay. "I will see to it that Arcee receives the necessary training."

He looked up at me, his mouth quirking slightly. "We lost her, too, you know. My point is Optimus knows that...there are certain things that make you more likely to glitch and he wants to help keep those triggers from happening. He...we… don't want to lose you, too. Especially not like that."

"It _is_ rather undignified," I admitted.

"It would leave you in limbo," he said, and I quickly Googled the unfamiliar term. "You couldn't see your kin again. You couldn't see Jazz. You be stuck alone, maybe forever."

Human hyperbole notwithstanding, it was an unsettling thought. Still, I tilted my head curiously. "You are that certain I _would_ see him if I was extinguished?"

"Don't be getting any ideas, but…" He shrugged. "Arcee spent time with her creator. Both Optimus and I met and worked with the Ancient Primes. Pit, Elita even gave me a message from Jazz."

I felt a sudden pang in my spark. Jazz was still that...mentally intact in the Well? "She did?"

Samuel looked up sharply. "Optimus didn't tell you that?"

"No."

He nodded in sudden understanding. "Because I showed him in a bond dream. I'd forgotten that part." He smiled apologetically at me, then looked out over the lagoon again. "I was pretty upset that I wasn't able to bring Jazz back. It was the first time I blocked the brother bond and it freaked Optimus out. Did he show any of that to you?"

I shook my helm. "No, only that you weren't able to reignite him."

"Hm. Well, the second time I met the Primes, they...there was a test, or more of a review of the tests, I guess, that proved I was a Prime. One of the tests was how I would react when I was told to not even try to bring Jazz back. They said I passed, and I asked them why I couldn't bring him back. Elita showed up then." His gaze was distant, lost in the memory. My processor was starting to hurt as I tried to envision it - Jazz, Elita, the Ancient Primes all casually talking with an organic who had never set foot on Cybertron. "She said that it was Jazz's choice to not come back, that he really was a seer, that he'd seen that it would turn out badly if he came back, and so he chose to stay in the Well." He looked up at me again. "I wasn't happy about that explanation, so Elita finally said, 'I trust him, Optimus trusts him, will you not also trust him?'"

I looked away from his unsettling eyes, and my gaze was drawn out over the lagoon again, into the lagoon to stare at the box that held Jazz's empty frame. Yes, I could trust that maddening mech to make such a selfless choice, but I would grieve him for the rest of my existence.

Samuel shuffled his feet in the sand. "Jazz wouldn't want you to always be like this."

I hung my helm, knowing he was correct. However, I was just selfish enough to not give the extinguished mech what he wanted. I didn't _want_ to resort to an alien method of grieving. I wanted my brothers, my kin. I wanted the feel of their sparks absorbing my sorrow and answering with understanding and kindness. I wanted the Cube on Cybertron, in a restored Temple so that Jazz and I could transform mere friendship into a living brotherhood. I wanted the guardians under my direction and protection alive and whole again. So many things I wanted, and none of them would come to pass.

Samuel interrupted my musings. "Would he? I mean, you knew him better than anyone alive."

Despite the heaviness of my spark, I said, "He would not."

"It doesn't have to be as boisterous as a Dixieland jazz funeral," Samuel continued softly. "Do some research. Find a way to honor his memory, his sacrifice - both before and after his death. We humans are ridiculously creative and I'm sure something will resonate sooner or later."

I didn't think that I was ready yet for the comfort Samuel was offering, but in honor of Jazz's memory, I would hold it in my spark until I was. "Thank you."

He gave me a sad half-smile. "Sure. Just so you know, Optimus already got approval from Will for you to come down here any time you want as long as you're off duty. I need to get stateside again, but you're welcome to stay here for as long as you'd like." Putting his hands in his pockets, he turned and walked back toward where Bumblebee was waiting.

A fractured memory surfaced then: Bluestreak running away during a rebellious moment and Jazz prompting me, "Ain't ya gonna go after him?"

The sounds of my own transformation made Samuel pause and turn, and I rolled forward until we were close enough to converse. Through my open door, I said, "Jazz isn't going anywhere, but you are. I'd like to see you off, my Prime."

His smile was a genuine one this time, and he climbed into my cab.


End file.
